


knicks in the fiberglass

by marqione



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Surfers, Boys Kissing, DNF, Fluff, Gream - Freeform, Kissing, M/M, Merman!George, Mutual Pining, Ocean, Surfer AU, Surfer Dream, Surfer!Dream, When worlds collide, dreamnotfound, merman george, they cute or whateva
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:40:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27570160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marqione/pseuds/marqione
Summary: Clay needs an escape. The world has become too monotonous. Then George swims in.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 230





	knicks in the fiberglass

**Author's Note:**

> Surfer Dream was not my original idea! I saw some art of him on twitter (the original creator I believe was @/ batvanilla) and I decided to take it and run with it. 
> 
> DISCLAIMER: If at any point, any of the CC's mentioned in this work claim that they are uncomfortable with this type of fanfiction, I will take it down as soon as possible.
> 
> If you like this work please consider dropping a comment telling me what you think, offering some critiques, or want me to continue!  
> I also draw! (Mainly MCYT) Check out my twitter @/sophcasserole :)
> 
> Enjoy!

Clay remembers very little about his childhood, as most kids do, but one thing he never forgot was his love for the waves.

The saline wind would run its fingers through his messy head of dirty blonde hair as the force of the ocean propelled him forward. Every time he picked up his board, he felt _free_.

Yes, Clay had been surfing for as long as he could remember; not that there was much of anything else to do. The beach town he lived in was as normal as they came. Farmers tending to their crops, shops selling their products, kids playing ball in the street. Clay found that amidst all the mundane in the world, the board was his only friend. As a teen he distinctly recalls visiting the sands at every chance he got, and would stay until his mother would call him for dinner and tended to his latest batch of sunburns.

She always scolded him to remember his sunscreen.

As time went by however, Clay—albeit disappointingly—came to terms with the fact that surfing was not a life-sustaining career. He did what most kids in his town did: graduated, went to the States, worked a desk job. Once again, the monotonousness inched its way back to him.

And once again, he picked up his board.

—

If there was one thing about his job he was grateful for, Clay decided, it was that he was able to make enough cash to comfortably pay for a trip back home. Plane tickets were cheap enough, and his mother must be up to her teeth dealing with his sister, he guessed. And so, here he was, standing in front of his childhood home.

It truly had been a while since he last visited, the house looked so familiar, and yet, Clay couldn’t help a twinge of nervousness. _He was quite pale_.

He greeted his mother and sister with a bear hug and a million dollar smile, and asked where his old board was.

“I should have known you’d want to get back on immediately,” she huffed, “don’t worry, I kept it safe in the garage. No one has touched it since you left.”

“And she hasn’t either?”

“Hey!” His sister cried.

“What? I don’t want your clumsy ass ruining my board! That’s a quality fiberglass cloth!”

His sister rolled her eyes, “yeah, not like I’d wanna anyway, you freaking nerd. . .”

Clay ruffled her head and walked off towards the garage. A new, even stronger wave of nostalgia overcame him as he gripped the rusty iron handle of the door. He felt like a teen again. And nothing would ever compare to the pure joy that riddled his body when he lay his eyes upon that sleek, verdant surfboard.

Clay took a few minutes to take it back in. It truly was _untouched_ like his mother entailed. No markings that hadn’t previously been there. He ran his finger pads over it, sweeping away some of the dust. Clay smiled and all but sprinted towards that beach.

—

The salty air did nothing to quell his adrenaline, in fact, Clay was sure he’d never took off his shirt that fast. Leaving his troubles with the wind, Clay rushed toward the shore, board in hand, and ready to ride.

He was initially worried he’d somehow forgotten how to surf, but the moment he saw a good wave, his mind shut up and his muscle memory took over.

He paddled quickly, and just before the wave crested, threw himself up onto the board and found his balance. The water formed an arc around him, crystal blue flooded his irises. He giggled and hollered. In hindsight, maybe Clay should have thought twice, as he lost his footing and the ocean spared mercy for no one. He felt his board surge to the surface as the wave crested above him, the current tousling him and the saltwater drowning his nose.

Clay floundered in the water a bit, trying to recenter himself. His eyes flurried open and the sun filled his oculars. With a swift kick to the ocean floor, his head broke through the surface, and he coughed up the extra water lingering in his lungs. He looked around for his board, wiping his hair out of his face. Seeing it floating a few feet away, he began to swim.

The ocean seemed to be full of surprises today, however. A small sparkle caught Clay’s eye. A small trinket(?) resting on the ocean floor? He dunked his head underwater once more and reached for the object. A hand stopped him. Clay looked up.

_What the fuck is that?!_

Green eyes met brown ones as the water reduced their screams to nothing but stray bubbles. Fear clouded Clay’s mind as he once again surged to the surface. And just as he was about to call for help, a hand shushed him, and an accented voice pierced his ears:

“Please! Do not scream!”

“GRRDJFIEDJWOEKJWLFCF—”

“I promise, I’m not going to hurt you, just _please_ do not scream.”

Clay gave him a fearful side-eye.

“If I explain everything and take my hand off your mouth, do you _promise_ to not scream?”

Clay nodded.

The stranger removed his hand from Clay’s mouth, “now let me—“

“W-What are you?” Clay craned his neck, looking at the...tail(?) floating behind him.

The creature looked around contemplatively and murmured, “I...I don’t think we should do this here...Follow me.”

“Why should I do that? How can I be sure you’re not going to take me away from society to. . .I don’t know. . .murder me?”

The creature rolled his eyes, his tail flapping impatiently in the water, “I have no weapons, now if you’d like an explanation, you’ll follow me.”

Clay grabbed his board. This was _definitely_ not a good idea.

—

The sound of the shore echoed through the walls of the lagoon, and gently swayed on the grey rocks surrounding it. It was a quaint little nook, Clay was surprised he’d never found it before. The stranger propped himself up on a rock and urged Clay to sit on his board.

The creature watched him steady himself with a peering eye as he began to speak in that odd accent of his, “to answer your question from earlier, I’m a merman.”

Clay looked on in disbelief and rubbed his temples, “I must be high or something.”

“High? We’re pretty close to the ground though. . .”

Clay sputtered and waved him off, “forget about it. A merman? Y’know, I’ve heard stories as a child but I never thought they were real.”

“Your people tell stories about us?” The stranger leaned in.

“‘My people’?”

“My people have always lived in fear of the men who walked the shore. You and your giant nets and sharp hooks.” The stranger looked down dejectedly, “my family doesn’t like when I snoop around for spare belongings by the shore. They always say it will get me killed by them but land objects are so much cooler than anything we have...”

Clay felt guilty, “you must be talking about the local fishermen. We eat fish around these parts. I’m guessing you don’t know much about ‘my people’, do you?”

George blushed and clutched his trinket to his chest, “no.”

“Do you have a name?”

The merman looked tentative for a moment before declaring, “George.”

_Cute_.

“Alright then, uhh, George,” Clay smiled, “anything you wanna know about my people I’ll tell you,” He extended his hand. _God, why was he so trusting._

The merma— _George_ peered at it questioningly before taking his hand, “. . .okay.”

“This is a hand shake. A formal gesture we use to greet each other on land,” he articulated as he shook George’s palm in his own.

George delicately let go of Clay’s hand, surprised at the sudden movement, and tightened his grip on his trinket. The setting sun suddenly burned Clay’s retinas and he looked at his watch.

Clay sat pensive for a moment glancing at the trinket, “tell you what,” he proposed, “I’ll come back tomorrow morning. Same place. And I’ll bring something from land to show you.”

George’s eyes sparkled, “thank you!”

Clay nodded and began to swim away but before he could get far, “Wait! I never got your name!” George hollered.

“It’s Clay!”

“Clay...what an odd name...” George whispered.

—

Clay looked up at the ceiling of his room, the only thing illuminating it was the soft light of the moon. Just enough light to keep his brain buzzing. What the hell happened today? A merman? He _met_ a merman? It seemed to him that he walked straight into some children’s fairytale. His sighed and closed his eyes, hoping for rest.

The morning came sooner than he expected. A childish giddiness overtook Clay as he searched for something to bring. George probably liked shiny things, right? Maybe bringing a few coins would intrigue him?

Clay rushed across his room to his wallet and grabbed some spare change, _better used for this than carrying dead weight,_ he thought.

Quickly fumbling the coins in his swim trunks, he padded downstairs where his mother and sister sat. His mother gave him a concerned eye, “and where are you off to in such a hurry at 9am?”

“I’ve got an errand to run! I-I’ll be back soon,” Clay gave a small wave and slammed the door shut.

His mother huffed.

The lagoon was just as empty as the day before, the only semblance of movement being the gentle song of the ocean. Clay took a deep breath and shouldered his surfboard, double-checking to make sure the cash hadn’t spilled on his sprint there. Docking next to the rock George sat on the day prior, Clay fiddled with the coins, rolling them between his fingers, and studying them out of boredom. _Surely, George would have remembered, right?_

He sat there for what felt like hours, and just before giving up a brown head broke the surface, and an accented voice spoke, slightly out of breath:

“My apologies...my family was very persistent that I stay for breakfast this morning,” his cheeks flushed.

Clay stared, “it’s fine,” nervously fiddling with a coin.

George saw the small metallic disc and his eyes shone brighter than the sun at high noon. Clay looked down at the coin, then beckoned George over. Propping his torso on Clay’s board, George held his hand open.

“What is this?” He examined with newfound wonder.

Clay chuckled, “it’s what we call a ‘coin’. It’s a form of currency that we use on land. There’s different kinds of coins depending on where you are though,” Clay grabbed another from his pocket, “this is called a quarter and its worth 25 cents.”

“25...cents? What are cents?”

Clay giggled at George’s excitement, “it’s a monetary expression used to indicate how much of a full dollar it’s worth.”

George continued to analyze every little detail of the coin. Clay slowly became lost in his focused eyes. Chocolate brown eyes, hair, nimble fingers, puffy cheeks, slightly parted lips...oh no. Clay snapped himself out of his daze, he had to collect himself. George, with those chocolate eyes of his, looked back up at Clay hopefully.

“Can I keep this?”

Clay laughed, “yes!”

—

Over the next couple of weeks Clay would continue to bring things for George. There was no rhyme or reason, just random objects he found at the supermarket, around the house, in town, etc. There was no sating George, however, he was absolutely fascinated with everything Clay brought him. What had previously been considered mundane to Clay was idolized by George.

Not to mention Clay’s growing feelings for the merman. Clay reached a point where, whether he knew it in his subconscious or not, he was addicted to the shine in George’s eyes whenever he toyed with something Clay brought for him. Of course, Clay was oblivious, and so entranced in his own emotions that he almost didn’t pick up on the lingering touches, the hand brushes, the stares, and the way George would inch ever closer to Clay to “get a better look”.

Soon enough, George became one of the only things Clay could think about, besides surfing of course. He often found himself laying awake at the devil’s hour thinking about how desperately he wanted to hold on to George and never let go. He longed for their interactions, and time always went by a little too quickly when they were together.

Clay ruminated on his feelings for George for a bit. He wasn’t a nervous person, per say, but he had never acquainted himself with a storm of emotions as compelling as these. Naturally, he was lost.

—

When Clay was lost, he often found solace amongst the waves. He lay on top of his board, void gaze glazing the roof of the lagoon he spent so many days under. The sun was beginning to set by now. He sighed. His head was in a knot, and his heart was being pulled and prodded in every direction. Clay closed his eyes and let the calm waters balance him again; That is, until they were agitated.

Clay quickly surveyed his surroundings, his green eyes landing on a very familiar tail. A soft smile wove its way onto his lips.

“Fancy seeing you here, stranger,” he teased.

George let out a chuckle, “likewise.”

Clay rested the back of his palm against the surface, “I didn’t bring anything for you today. Sorry to disappoint.”

“You’re not just the human who brings me shiny objects, you know,” George fiddled nervously with his fingertips, a light blush dusting his cheeks, “I like being in your company.”

Clay’s heart skipped a beat as he flipped to face George, “you like my company?”

“I do.”

_Now or never,_ ”What is it that you like about my company?”

_Now or never,_ “You intrigue me. I’ve never met someone like you before; the way your eyes gleam the way they do when you talk about something you love,” George inched closer.

_Now or never, “Specifically the way they gleam when you speak to me.”_

Clay was sure every bodily function stopped working in that moment, “The way your shoulders perk up ever so slightly when you see me in the distance, when your hands linger on mine just a second too long...it all intrigues me,” He was so close. _Now or never_.

The setting sun was blinding. Stifling. _Now or never._

“George, I—“ He leaned over, George’s lips ghosting over his own. He swallowed. _Now or never_.

“So terribly intriguing.”

Their lips connected in a flurry of emotions, their bodies moving in tandem. Clay cradled the merman’s jaw in his palm and deepened the kiss. He hadn’t meant for it to become as hungry and starved as it became, but every time he pulled away, he found his lips locked against George’s again.

George’s back landed gently against a rock, as he wrapped his arms around Clay’s neck. His slightly salty taste filled Clay’s senses as he kissed him senseless. George had never felt so amazing but much to his dismay, Clay pulled away to breathe.

The merman whined as he peered at the surfer’s dark red blush and blissed out expression; nothing mattered more to him in that moment than George.

Clay laughed, “damn.”

George breathlessly replied, “damn indeed.”

They held each other for a few more moments, slightly twirling in the orange-tinted water as the setting sun beamed on their skin. It was so warm, so inviting.

“I love you, merman,” Clay stroked his jaw gently, George chuckled.

“I love you too, human.”

Clay pecked his cheek and laced their fingers together. He thought about his surfboard amidst the quietness, how he always searched for his freedom from the mundane. And there it was, right in front of him. Clay supposed his mission was over, he found what he was looking for, and it wasn’t coated in fiberglass, no. George brought new meaning to his life, and for that he was so grateful.

Now he would never give up his love for the waves, but Clay, for once, found peace in something other than his board. So there it sat, washed up on the shore, the setting sun revealing every knick and scratch in the old paint.

A remnant.

—

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! :)


End file.
